


The Kingslayer's Niece

by Alixtii



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya Kingslayer, Arya Stark is Queen in the North, Children of Characters, Cousins, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen Lives, Dead Joffrey Baratheon, Eventual Threesome - F/F/M, Eventual sibling incest, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Female Protagonist, Independent North (ASoIaF), Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Leaving Home, Multi, No Underage Sex, Original Character-centric, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Original Female Character, Parent-child relationships, Parenthood, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Past Tense, Prophetic Dreams, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, jonrya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alixtii/pseuds/Alixtii
Summary: Sansa Baratheon, widow of the late usurper Joffrey, returns to Winterfell with her children Catelyn and Willem, bringing a message from the Dragon Queen to Jon Targaryen and Arya Stark, the King and Queen in the North.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark, Jon Snow/Arya Stark/Sansa Stark
Comments: 58
Kudos: 95





	1. An Unexpected Journey

**CATELYN**

It had been nine years since Catelyn Baratheon had seen her Aunt Arya, just as it had been a full decade since she had seen her father alive. She had been barely three name days old when it happened. Her younger brother, Willem, had not even reached his first name day, and so had no memories either of their father or their Aunt Arya. He had no memory of any ruler other than the Dragon Queen.

Her own memories were dim.

She heard the whispered gossip about her aunt, the Lady of Winterfell. The Queen in the North, they called her. The Queen of Winter. The She-Wolf of Winterfell. And when they thought Catelyn could not hear, they called her Kingslayer.

She was not supposed to know that Arya had killed her father, that her aunt--a skilled assassin trained by the Faceless Ones--had managed to slip into the castle undetected and had taken Joffrey Baratheon's life before the arrival of Queen Daenerys. 

But now, at the Queen's command, she and her brother would be traveling with their mother to Winterfell, to visit Aunt Arya and her husband, Jon Targaryen, King in the North, who was the Dragon Queen's nephew and their mother's cousin. According to the stories, the Queen herself had wanted to marry John--that was the Targaryen way, family marrying family to keep the bloodline unpolluted--and he had instead married his cousin Arya largely to escape the marriage to Daenerys.

Catelyn did not like to admit, even to herself, that she was intimidated by the thought of seeing her Aunt Arya again. All the stories and gossip had turned her mother's unconventional younger sister into a figure of legend, larger than life and more than a little scary. Her father had not been the only man that Aunt Arya had killed, after all.

Willem didn’t seem to share any of her fears. He was excited to see new sights, especially Winterfell which was the site of so many of their mother’s stories. He was particularly excited to see the direwolves their aunt and uncle each had as a companion. Catelyn didn’t quite understand the appeal wolves had when there were dragons in King’s Landing. 

“Are you finished packing?” Septa Ellyn asked as she entered Catelyn’s room.

“Nearly,” Catelyn answered.

Septa Ellyn examined Catelyn’s work, then nodded in satisfaction. “When you are finished, child, perhaps you can help your brother. His packing has not been going nearly as well.”

“Yes, Septa,” Catelyn agreed, then turned to the woman. “Septa Ellyn, have you ever been North?”

The septa looked shocked at the very suggestion. “No, of course not. Most have not yet accepted the Faith in the North. They have little need for septas.” Her frown deepened into a scowl. “Especially since it gained its independence from the Iron Throne.”

Catelyn nodded, understanding. Aunt Arya and Uncle Jon both kept the old gods, she knew, just as her grandfather Eddard had. 

“When your father was king, he would make sure all seven kingdoms showed proper respect to the Faith.”

Catelyn blinked. People rarely made reference to her father, and when they did, it was almost always to disparage him. Praising the usurper was dangerous even at the best of times--you never knew when a comment would make its way to the Dragon Queen’s ears, or worse, to the Master of Whispers’.

“What do you think it will be like? The North?”

Ellyn frowned. “Cold, dark, and dismal,” she answered without hesitation. “Savage and uncivilized. But sometimes God calls us to make sacrifices, and this shall be one of them.”

* * *

**SANSA**

As the wife of the Usurper and the mother of his children, Sansa had of course been viewed with distrust by the newly crowned Queen Daenerys and her allies. They had seemed to avoid her whenever possible in those days; when not possible, they spoke to her courteously, but without friendliness or warmth. She would have preferred to leave King’s Landing at that point, to return to Winterfell with Jon and Arya, but the Queen required her to stay, where Daenerys and her advisors could watch Sana and ensure she did not act to move against Daenerys, to try to place Sansa’s Baratheon children on the Iron Throne.

Still, she had acclimated herself to her new situation. She and her children were alive and safe, and she threw her effort into raising them, taking pleasure as they grew.

The fact that Targaryen was now using her as emissary, sending her and her children to visit her sister at Winterfell, was a clear sign that the Queen's distrust of her had, if not disappeared completely, at least lessened somewhat. 

It was only a few days ago that Sansa had been summoned into Daenerys’ presence and the Queen had informed her that she had a special message for Jon and Arya. “You must take the message yourself, and bring your children with you,” she had commanded. “I cannot have my nephew and your sister think I am making demands while holding you hostage. I can ill afford a war with the North.”

Sansa gasped involuntarily, then hurried to compose herself. “Certainly, your Grace, they would not--”

“Would they not?” Daenerys asked rhetorically, cutting her off. “If you corner a wolf, then it will attack you; it has no choice, because you have left it no other option. Your sister has already turned Kingslayer, Lady Sansa; I do not doubt she would become Queenslayer as well were I foolish enough to threaten her family.”

But I am no longer her family, Sansa did not say. I am Baratheon now.

“Jon and Arya must not think I am trying to force the North to kneel to the Iron Throne,” Daenerys continued. “I will not corner the wolf. They must understand that I make this request only as kinswoman and friend.”

And so here they were, at last leaving King’s Landing as they prepared to journey to Winterfell. Sansa had been even younger than Catelyn when she and her father and Arya traveled to King’s Landing so that Eddard Stark could take the place of the King’s Hand. At the time, she had loved King’s Landing, and what it had promised: the pageantry of the courts and the tournaments, the promise of her betrothal to the handsome Prince Joffrey. Winterfell had seemed bleak in comparison, then.

Much had changed in the years since that too-innocent girl arrived in King’s Landing: her marriage to Joffrey, the birth of her children, the death of King Robert and her own coronation as Joffrey’s Queen, her father’s execution. And, of course, the assassination of Joffrey and Cersei Lannister by Arya, and the subsequent conquest of the Dragon Queen. 

She could see now beneath the beautiful facade which had so entranced her as a girl.

If she was honest with herself, the idea of returning to Winterfell, that place where she had been born and had called home, held some appeal to her. It was Catelyn and Willem she worried about. They had been born in King’s Landing and knew no other home. How would they respond to the greyness and cold of the North?

Sansa was particularly worried about her daughter. Catelyn took after Sansa, with blue eyes and long Tully-red hair, although Catelyn’s hair was a lighter shade than Sansa’s own auburn. At the age of thirteen, she was already taller than Sansa herself was at nine and twenty. Given the girl’s beauty and noble birth, it should have been easy to find Catelyn a noble husband, but the Queen had brushed Sansa off each time she tried to raise the subject, and Sansa had not had any luck trying to arrange a marriage on her own. And now she was commanded to take Catelyn away from King’s Landing to Winterfell, where Catelyn’s prospects for a good marriage would be much worse.


	2. Leaving King's Landing

**CATELYN**

Both Catelyn and Willem were finished with their packing and, with nothing left to do, Catelyn had gone to visit the godswood. Despite belonging to and raising Catelyn and Willem in the Faith of the Seven, Sansa had often taken her children here, and some of Catelyn's best memories were quiet times with her mother among the trees.

Her mind was still focused on those memories of days past as she made her way through the labyrinthine hallways of the Red Keep, walking back to her own quarters from the godswood, when suddenly she collided with a large mass.

She looked up in horror to find herself staring into the eyes of a Dothraki bloodrider. She quickly took a step back, her eyes darting back and forth before the massive Dothraki Queensguard and the diminutive silver-haired woman behind him whom Catelyn quickly recognized as Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Six Kingdoms. 

There was silence for several moments before the Queen finally said, her voice gentle, “Do not be afraid, child. Rakharo will not hurt you.”

Was she afraid? Catelyn wondered. Her heart was certainly racing fast enough for this to be fear. And fear would certainly have been a reasonable enough reaction, given all the whispered stories and rumors Catelyn had heard told about the ferocious Dragon Queen.

But in truth, the only thought Catelyn was capable of processing in that moment was just how beautiful the slender, silver-haired woman in front of her was. Catelyn found herself getting lost as she stared down into those bewitching purple eyes.

She had known that Daenerys Stormborn was not a tall woman, but still it was something of a surprise to find that even at only three-and-ten, Catelyn herself was already taller than the Queen.

The Queen, for her part, seemed unfazed by Catelyn’s dumbstruck staring, saying nothing further as she waited patiently for some sensible reaction.

At last Catelyn managed to get enough control of her senses. “Your Grace,” she said as she curtseyed deeply, her head bowed.

“Lady Catelyn,” Daenerys said, the barest hint of a smile on her face. “I hope that we did not startle you?”

“Of course not, my Queen,” Catelyn answered quickly. “It was my fault; I should have been paying better attention to where I was going.”

“Your thoughts did seem rather far away,” Daenerys agreed. “May I enquire what had you so engrossed, my lady?"

“Of course, Your Grace. I was thinking of all the times my mother brought my brother and me to the godswood.”

The queen looked thoughtful. “I have not seen it myself, but I hear that Winterfell has quite an impressive godswood, with a cold, dark pool and an ancient weirwood heart tree at its center.”

Catelyn nodded. “I have heard my mother describe it so many times, Your Grace.”

“Yes, I know it has pained Lady Sansa to be away from her home these past years,” Daenerys said, looking up to Catelyn with understanding eyes. “Unfortunate that in order to allow her to return home, I must deprive her children of the only home they have ever known. But it cannot be helped, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Catelyn said. “I’m sure Winterfell will be just as wonderful as in Mother’s stories. Except . . . " Catelyn started, then caught herself and trailed off.

"Except?" Daenerys prompted expectantly.

"My mother rarely speaks of my Aunt Arya,” Catelyn said, choosing her words carefully. “I’m . . . uncertain what to expect.”

"The Queen in the North," said Daenerys. Catelyn nodded, although it hadn't really been a question. 

"Your aunt is a very impressive and formidable woman," Daenerys noted. "You would be wise to learn all that you can from her."

* * *

**SANSA**

“We will leave for Winterfell on the morrow,” Sansa informed the Queen.

Daenerys nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to return home at last,” she said. 

For a moment, Sansa wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been there,” she said at last, still not sure whether she was agreeing or disagreeing with the Queen’s statement. “And my relationship with my sister is . . . complicated.”

This elicited a bark of a laugh from Daenerys.

Sansa had to admit, if only to herself, that she wasn't entirely sure whether she was angry with her sister or grateful to her for killing Joffrey. It had cut short what had been promising to be a long, bloody war, and it had left her children without a father.

Joffrey had not been exactly a good father, but he hadn't been cruel to the children the way he was to her. Not usually, anyway. And he was also capable of incredible kindness when the mood had struck him, which admittedly had not been very often. She had not loved him, not really, but their marriage had not been totally without affection, either.

Until, of course, Needle had slit his throat. 

Sansa had found them there, together. She had gone to look for Joffrey and had found him over an hour dead, with Arya sitting next to him, waiting, with Needle in her hand.

For a moment, Sansa thought that maybe Arya had been waiting to kill her too. “The King is dead, sister,” Arya said, her voice flat and emotionless. “Long live the Dragon Queen.”

“Long live the Queen,” Sansa had echoed, still in shock at the sight of her husband, dead.

She had seen her sister a few more times during the months that followed, including attending Arya’s wedding to their brother--no, their cousin--Jon. But each time their interaction had been limited to polite words and brief meetings. Then at last Arya and Jon set out for Winterfell. That had been nine years ago, and Sansa had not spoken to either her sister or Jon in all that time, not even by raven, except to congratulate them on the news of the birth of their daughter Lyanna, and even that letter had been short and cursory. 

And now she was to travel to Winterfell to bring Arya and Jon a message from the Dragon Queen.

“It seems you and your daughter share something in common,” mused said queen, startling Sansa’s thoughts back to the present.

“Excuse me, Your Grace?” Sansa asked confusedly, as she belatedly processed what the queen had said. “Catelyn?”

Daenerys nodded. “Lady Catelyn bumped into Rakharo this afternoon, on her way back from the godswood. When I asked her what had her so distracted, she confided in me she was worried about meeting her aunt. Hardly surprising, I suppose; who knows what rumors and legends she may have heard--as if the truth couldn’t be scary enough, especially for a child.”

* * *

**CATELYN**

Catelyn sat in the litter with her mother, her brother, and Septa Ellyn. She could hardly focus on her embroidery; after weeks of traveling, they were, according to Sansa, at last close to Winterfell. As much as Catelyn might worry about what--and who--she would find at the northern keep, it had to beat another week in the litter.

All of a sudden, the litter lurched to a stop, and it was all that Catelyn could do to keep from stabbing herself with her embroidery needle. Instinctively, she looked to her mother, who had gone instantly alert. Frowning, Sansa stood and exited the litter. Catelyn followed behind her, followed by Willem.

At the front of the crowd were the two Queensguard members that Queen Daenerys had sent with them. The two Dothraki warriors stood with their weapons drawn, ready to attack or parry but not yet moving. Catelyn gaped at the two gargantuan beasts in front of them, huge wolves over twice as large as any had she had ever seen. Dire wolves, she recognized.

Walking past the Queensguard as if they were not even there, Sansa approached the wolves without fear, then placed a hand on the white dire wolf’s massive head. “Ghost,” she said affectionately, then turned to the other, even larger wolf and did the same. “Nymeria.” She turned back to the crowd. “Lord Targaryen and Lady Stark have sent their wolves to escort us the rest of the way to Winterfell,” she explained to them. “There is no danger.”

None of the men moved.

“Catelyn, Willem,” Sansa said, “come here.”

Warily, Catelyn and her brother approached their mother and the direwolves. “Come on,” Sansa coaxed. “They won’t hurt you.”

Indeed, the direwolves just stood there, watching, as Catelyn took her place at her mother’s side. The beasts came up to her chest, massive and intimidating, but they made no threatening moves. Tentatively, Catelyn lifted her hand and let it rest on the white wolf’s head, as her mother had done. “Hello, Ghost,” she said to the wolf. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And it was. There was something about these wolves that was unlike any other creature Catelyn had ever known. Whatever it was, she thought perhaps dragons might share it, but she had only ever seen the gargantuan Targaryen beasts from a distance. Certainly she had never been close enough to touch one.

Ghost turned his head to look at her, and his eyes sized her up with an almost human intelligence. They were wise eyes, Catelyn thought, even as she knew that was a ridiculous thing to think about a wolf, even a dire wolf.

Nymeria snorted. “And you as well, Nymeria,” Catelyn quickly said.

Sansa laughed. “Come, we need to get to Winterfell before dark,” she said. “You will have plenty of time to get to know Ghost and Nymeria once we’re there.”

The men returned to their tasks, finally willing to turn their backs on the dire wolves. Catelyn returned to the litter with Willem and their mother, and the small caravan began to continue on its way north along the Kingsroad towards Winterfell.

Winterfell, the place of so many of her mother’s stories. The place where Sansa Stark was born, and grew up, and then when Sansa was even younger than Catelyn was now, she traveled the Kingsroad in the opposite direction, to King’s Landing.

She tried to imagine the castle of King’s Landing, the only home she had ever known, through her mother’s eyes, seeing it for the first time. The thought was disorienting; the place was so familiar to her that it was hard to imagine it ever being foreign or unfamiliar to anyone, although she knew intellectually it had been. But that would be what Winterfell would be like to her: everything about it completely new, recognizable only from her mother's stories.


	3. Arrival at Winterfell

**SANSA**

Sansa couldn’t help but be fretful as the litter passed over the drawbridge and through the East Gate. When she had left Winterfell, she had been Sansa Stark, the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell. Now she returned as Lady Baratheon, the usurper's widow.

Taking a deep breath, she led her children out of the litter.

Standing in the ward waiting for them, flanked by their Kingsguard, stood Jon Targaryen and Arya Stark, King and Queen in the North. Ghost and Nymeria ran up to take their own places at the sides of Jon and Arya.

“Welcome, sister,” Jon said, and Sansa started at the familiar title. But if he had not been the bastard half-brother they had believed, he was her good-brother now, so the word still applied.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sansa said, then turned to Arya. “Your Grace,” she said, and it had been surprisingly easy to greet her sister with the title which had once been hers.

“Lady Baratheon,” Arya greeted her formally, just the hint of a smirk on her face. Then the smirk broke into a grin as Arya pulled her into an embrace. “Welcome home, Sansa.”

Sansa tried to do her best to return the embrace, unnatural as it felt. The relationship between Sansa and Arya had always been an awkward one, even before Arya had killed Sansa’s husband. Sansa could freely admit that she had never understood her sister, who was uninterested in the beautiful things which occupied Sansa’s thoughts and instead seemed drawn to unwomanly pursuits.

Even now, as Queen in the North, Arya made a very different sort of queen than Cersei Lannister or Sansa herself had. She was dressed in dark leather trousers and a plain grey tunic rather than some elaborate gown, with Needle hanging from her belt. But she moved with an easy grace, and when she spoke it was with the voice of command. If anyone, Arya now reminded her of Daenerys Targaryen, although even the Dragon Queen had made concessions to the reality of her sex.

Sansa knew that Daenerys had been ill pleased by Jon and Arya’s sudden marriage, as she had intended to marry Jon herself, according to Targaryen custom. But too many people knew that she owed her seat on the Iron Throne to Arya Kingslayer. To turn against Arya would have shown to the people that she did not pay her debts, did not value her alliances when they were no longer in her favor, and the kingdoms would have turned against her.

And so she had sent Jon and Arya back to Winterfell and made them King and Queen in the North. She had given up one kingdom to secure the other six. It had been a wise decision.

Jon spoke up. “May I present our daughter, Lyanna Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Princess Lyanna was a little girl, tall for her nine years of age. Like both her parents, her Stark heritage was clear from her long face, dark hair, and grey eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aunt Sansa,” she said, her voice calm and subdued.

Sansa graced the girl with what she hoped was a warm smile. “Likewise, Princess” she told her, then turned back to Jon and Arya. “And you remember my children, Catelyn and Willem.”

If they were troubled by welcoming the children of Joffrey Baratheon into their keep, they made no show of it. “Of course!” said Jon, his voice warm. “Although they’ve certainly grown since I saw them last.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” answered Catelyn properly, with a slight bow. 

Jon turned back towards Sansa, his expression sobering. “I understand you bring a message from my aunt.”

Sansa nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Best not to put it off,” Jon said. “If you would mind accompanying Arya and me to my solar?” He turned back to his daughter. “Lyanna, perhaps you could help your cousins get settled in?”  
“Of course, Father,” the princess answered promptly, and the entire company made their way towards the Great Keep.

* * *

**CATELYN**

When they arrived at the Great Keep, Lyanna led Catelyn, Willem, and Septa Ellyn to their new rooms. The party split up, each person going to their respective rooms, except Lyanna, who obviously was already fully settled in Winterfell having been born there, stayed with Catelyn.

“They call my mother ‘Kingslayer’ because she killed your father,” Lyanna said matter of factly when the two girls were alone.

Catelyn blinked. How in the seven hells was she supposed to respond to that? “That’s true,” she agreed hesitantly. “He wasn’t really King, though. His father stole the throne from Queen Daenerys’ older brother.”

“My grandfather Rhaegar,” Lyanna agreed with a serious nod that seemed out of a place on a nine-year-old’s face, then asked, “Do you wish you were still a princess?” 

Catelyn paused. It was a dangerous question, she knew, even if it was asked in innocence. The last thing Catelyn wanted to do was offend the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but the younger girl didn’t seem to understand that there were questions which really shouldn’t be asked, at least not openly. “It’s been so long since I was a princess that I hardly remember what it was like,” she answered carefully. 

“I’ve never been anything but a princess,” Lyanna answered. “Sometimes I like it, but sometimes it’s awful. Ser Brienne won’t let me practice my swordfighting with a real sword because it’s too dangerous, and I’m the only heir to the Seven Kingdoms.”

It seemed to Catelyn that Lyanna was allowed to do quite a few things that a princess would never have been allowed to do--swordfighting very much among them, even with a practice sword--in King’s Landing. She tried to imagine her Aunt Myrcella in the practice yard parrying with a sword, and had to laugh at the mental image.

Of course, like Catelyn herself, Myrcella had only been a princess before the arrival of Daenerys Stormborn. She could imagine the Queen wielding a sword much more easily. 

There was a lull in the conversation then, as Catelyn began unpacking and Princess Lyanna watched her intently. “What is my aunt like?” asked Lyanna eventually, breaking the silence.

“Daenerys? She is very beautiful,” Catelyn answered instantly, remembering that meeting on the way back from the godswood, of penetrating purple eyes and lustrous silver hair. 

“Is she nice?”

Catelyn frowned. She was fairly certain that “nice” was not a word anyone had ever used to describe the Dragon Queen. “She is just, and not unkind.”


	4. The Dragon's Message

**SANSA**

Sansa sat with Jon and Arya in their solar, as Jon broke the seal on the missive from Daenerys Targaryen and began to read. “Do you know what is in this?” Jon asked as he finished it and handed it to his wife.

Sansa shook her head.

“Daenerys is requesting that we send Lyanna south to King’s Landing to foster,” Jon said, his tone and expression making it perfectly clear how he felt about sending away his only child. Sansa tried to imagine being forced to send away Catelyn or Willem, and sympathized. 

The revelation as to the contents of the missive did explain why Daenerys had sent two members of her Kingsguard along with Sansa and her children, however: to accompany the Princess Lyanna back to King’s Landing.

“We always knew this day was coming, Jon. Our daughter is heir to the Iron Throne,” Arya said, as if there were any way Jon could have forgotten that fact. “As little as I might like it, Daenerys’ request is not exactly unreasonable.”

“No, I suppose not,” Jon conceded, “but I don’t like it anymore than you do.”

Arya sighed. “If Lyanna goes south to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she will need a Warden in the North. There will still need to be a Lord in Winterfell, and neither of us will live forever.”

Jon nodded thoughtfully, then slowly turned his head to look at Sansa. “There is Catelyn, or young Willem.”

Sansa blinked in surprise. They were considering her children to succeed them?

“There is also a request,” Arya said slowly, “that we find a husband for Catelyn here in the North."

Sansa’s heart fell. This was precisely what she had most feared. 

With Catelyn at King’s Landing, she was in the eye of many powerful lords from throughout Westeros. She had been confident in her ability to secure a good marriage for her daughter, perhaps to one of the Tyrell lords. 

“Come, Sansa,” Jon said, clearly reading the disappointment on Sansa’s face. “I’m sure you had dreams of Catelyn marrying a lord from a Great House, but Daenerys was never going to let that happen. Here we can find a husband for Catelyn who will care for her and love her for herself, not be enticed by the temptation of using her to try to seize the Iron Throne.”

“She’s better off as far from Southron politics as she can get,” agreed Arya, “take my word for it.”

Of course Jon and Arya would think so, Sansa reflected grimly. They had always loved the North, its wildness and its danger, its inability to be tamed.

“It is not as if we must choose a husband for her tonight,” said Jon. “Catelyn is still young. There’s no need to rush into a decision right away.”

“She’s already the age that I was when I was married,” Sansa argued.

Arya said nothing, simply looked at her pointedly with an expression that Sansa could easily interpret as _And look at how well that turned out_.

Sansa sighed, conceding the point. Waiting another year or two ought not hurt Catelyn’s chances too much, especially if she were to be married to one of the Northern lords who cared less for the young, delicate wives that were so in demand in the South. She had just hoped for so much better for Catelyn. 

“For the moment, we will send a raven to King’s Landing, telling Daenerys that we have received her message and are given due consideration to each of her requests,” said Jon, looking to Arya, who nodded her agreement.

“That’s enough for today, then. It’s late and you’ve had a long day of travel,” Jon said, looking at Sansa. “Tomorrow we’ll celebrate your return to Winterfell, for now, I think we all need our rest.”

“And Lyanna needs to be up early tomorrow for her dancing lessons,” Arya said to Jon, but looking at Sansa as she did so, a smirk on her face. Sansa had the decided feeling that she was the butt of some joke which she didn’t understand. 

But oddly enough, she was okay with that. She still didn’t understand Jon and Arya, but it seemed clear that even if her younger sister was still making fun of her--and really, would she really be Arya if she wasn’t?--this time there was no malice in it.

* * *

**CATELYN**

That night, Catelyn dreamt she was running through the forest. Running on all fours, much faster than she could ever hope to run in life. She was not herself, she realized, but her uncle’s dire wolf, Ghost. They were running through the forest at preternatural speed, toward some destination that Catelyn did not know but which Ghost seemed to understand as if by instinct.

At last, they came to a Northern stronghold, its main gate torn down by some great destructive force. Ghost had been to this fortress before with Jon when the gate was intact, but the dire wolf thought of in terms of scents and images that Catelyn wasn’t able to meaningfully translate, except to be sure that it was somewhere north of Winterfell and south of the Wall. 

Now, the fortress was overrun by hordes of human-like figures, rotting corpses with the power of movement. Ghost was instinctively repulsed by these creatures, neither alive nor fully dead, but forced his way through his repulsion as he navigated his way through them to the person he sought. 

She stood at the foot of the keep, a red-haired woman with a Valyrian dagger in her right hand and a flaming torch in her left. At first Catelyn thought it might be her mother, but the woman’s red hair was lighter than Sansa’s, and when she turned around so that Ghost could see her face Catelyn realized it was an older version of herself, perhaps about twenty years old. She was fending off the attacking wights with skill and aplomb.

But that didn’t change the fact that there were dozens of them and only one of her. Catelyn watched through Ghost’s eyes as one of the wights managed to get behind Catelyn and it was only Ghost pouncing on the undead creature which managed to save her older self from the wight’s attack.

Recognition followed by confusion and then dismay all passed across Catelyn’s face as she noticed Ghost for the first time, but she could not spare much distraction as the other wights pressed upon her. Both she and Ghost continued fighting, but the odds were still very much against them.

Then, the open space in front of the keep was plunged into fire, the flames only just missing Catelyn and Ghost. Dragonbreath, Catelyn realized, as it cleared to reveal the massive winged form of a dragon above them and, riding it, a grey-eyed, dark-haired girl of five and ten. 

The field was cleared of wights, but one figure continued to approach: tall and gaunt, with milk-pale flesh and cold blue eyes which burned like ice. The dragon let out another breath of fire, but the monstrously beautiful creature kept on moving, unphased. 

Left with no choice but to attack, Catelyn dropped the torch from her left hand and charged forward. But with nightmarish speed, the cold god grabbed her right forearm with one hand and then her left with the other, leaving her defenseless. 

But the white shadow holding her by her forearm, his hand wrapped around her leather brace, left enough flexibility in her wrist to allow her to throw the dagger over his shoulder into the air. Catching the dagger by the hilt, Lyanna leapt from her dragon, shoving it into his back.

At once, a shocked expression upon its icy visage, the Other released her as it shattered into a thousand shards of ice. Catelyn fell back onto the ground as the force of Lyanna’s momentum slammed into her, leaving her lying on the ground pinned underneath the younger girl. 

The two girls looked into each other’s eyes, elated by their sudden and unexpected victory. Then, slowly, they brought their mouths to each other in a deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Catelyn's dream foreshadows future Catelyn/Lyanna, that's not going to happen in _this_ story, because Lyanna is nine years old right now. Also, while Catelyn's sexual awakening _will_ be part of her arc in this story, it will all be very chaste. Just in case you worried.
> 
> In case I decide to pick up the events described in the dream in another fic in this AU, I reserve the right to change and rearrange events as I see fit. This is a dream, however prophetic it might be, not a one-to-one explication of events. Also Catelyn will forget most of these details relatively quickly, as is usual for dreams, so don't expect her to be able to use this dream for hints.
> 
> As to why the Others aren't already defeated by this point (a fact which doesn't have much effect on this fic but, again, may have on others in this AU), I'm doing my best to make my modified timeline work. Some things happen very slowly in this timeline as opposed to canon, while others happen much more quickly.


End file.
